


As Long As You Love Me So (Let It Snow)

by Skyelah



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Because I doubt there's Christmas in the EF, But also because Hook's adorable when he's confused, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, F/M, Gingerbread Houses, These two idiots find a family..., Traditions, Winter Solstice, Yuletide, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyelah/pseuds/Skyelah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Swan, what is this 'Christmas' that's got the whole bloody town in an uproar?"</p><p>Sometimes, Emma forgets that Hook missed out on the modern world info dump of the first curse. Emma teaches Killian to navigate this realm's holiday season, and in return, he shares his own traditions with her. Shameless holiday fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Long As You Love Me So (Let It Snow)

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to post this yesterday, but complications arose. Oops. So here, have a Christmas present!

The first _real_ snowfall of the year came so quickly and unexpectedly that it almost seemed like some remnant of the Snow Queen’s magic was left in Storybrooke. Emma woke in her room in the Charming’s loft to the blinding bright whiteness of sunlight reflecting off of new fallen snow, and great fluffy flakes of the same drifting down from the sky. She rolled out of bed, shuffling over to the window to see great blankets of white laying over everything, covering the roads and sidewalks and making a mound where she knew she had parked her Bug the night before.

 

“Mom!”

 

Henry came tearing into her room, already dressed and half wrapped in his winter jacket, striped scarf hanging loosely around his neck. “Good, you’re up! Have you looked outside yet?”

 

“Yeah, Henry, I see it.” Emma glanced between the window and her son, her brow furrowing. “It looks like a day spent shoveling to me. Did the curse even cover snowplows?” Henry shrugged.

 

“My Mom probably has it all figured out. Get dressed! Gramps said he’ll take us to the park to go sledding!”

 

“Hang on, kid. If David’s taking you anywhere, that puts me at the station all day. Someone has to keep an eye on things.” Watching her son’s face fall, Emma amended her statement. “Tell you what. I’ll cut out a little early tonight, and you and I can go pick out a Christmas tree for the loft.” With all the kerfuffle post Ingrid’s curse and Rumplestiltskin’s plans in the weeks past, they had slipped into December almost without notice, and while her gifts for her family had been bought and stored away, Emma figured it was high time they start decorating for the season.

 

Henry seemed to agree, his smile brightening in agreement before he wrapped in a quick hug, rushing out and down the stairs as he called for her father. Emma let herself laugh quietly, before silently shutting the door to her room, to start getting ready for the day. Now that she was fully awake, she could catch a whiff of coffee as someone, presumably Mary Margaret, brewed a pot; she could hear her baby brother fussing and her father shushing him even as he bantered with her son, and it all seemed so _normal_ that Emma couldn’t stop the smile that appeared on her face.

 

* * *

 

The curse, it seemed, did indeed cover snowplows; as Emma made her way down main street on foot, too reluctant to even begin digging out her car, a plow rumbled past her with Leroy, of all people, driving. She lifted her hand in a passing wave as he rolled by, shaking her head and marveling again at the thoroughness of the Dark Curses. The air was bitingly cold, but still and windless and she trudged sidewalks that someone had kindly taken a snow blower to earlier that morning.  

 

Granny’s was bustling this particular midmorning, though Emma managed to catch Ruby’s eye in passing, and the werewolf gave her a quick nod of recognition. Emma set herself down at the counter to await her extra-large hot chocolate, which she knew Ruby would get to when she had the time. Around her, the diner was abuzz with conversation; the townsfolk, it seemed, were excited by the snowfall and thrilled at the prospect of what was shaping up to be the first villain-free holiday since the curse breaking.

 

“Morning, love.”

 

Turning her head, Emma watched as Killian sauntered into the diner from the adjoining inn, his usual smirk in place as he slid onto the stool beside her, his right hand instantly seeking her own. He dipped down, pressing a swift, closed-mouth kiss to her lips that she couldn’t help but smile into. After he had regained his heart and explained to her everything that had happened, from the deal to restore his hand to the events in the clock tower, something had shifted in their relationship. They were more open with their affections now and, while Hook still looked to her to take the lead, he was sure enough of himself to press his advantage as an equal partner in the relationship. Hence, the kissing her in public places, a constant reminder that he was there and he wasn’t going anywhere.

 

“Morning, Killian.” His thumb swept over the back of her hand as he returned her smile with a small one of his own. “You’re up late this morning. What happened to rising at the ass crack of dawn, sailor?”

 

“Well, love,” Killian used the point of his hook to carefully scratch behind his ear, ducking his eyes in embarrassment, “I confess that upon waking this morning, I came to the realization that I am woefully underprepared for weather such as this. I thought it best to remain indoors rather than venture outside and risk freezing my not inconsiderable assets.” It was amazing, really, the depths of innuendo that the man could imply using only his eyebrows.

 

“You know where to go to buy clothes, Killian, and don’t tell me you’ve run out of doubloons,” she retorted, refusing to rise to his bait.

 

“Then Swan, I must confess, I remained here because I awoke with the considerable desire to see your lovely face before I went about with my day.” She rolled her eyes and kissed him anyway, sliding one hand up to scratch at the scruff of his neck, and he sighed into her lips.

 

“I think you overslept, but nice try,” she said, patting his cheek gently before turning back in her seat as Ruby whisked around the counter, immediately pouring a tall cup of black coffee for Killian and starting on Emma’s hot chocolate. “Busy today.”

 

“Always,” Ruby snorted, ducking down to pull a canister of whipped cream out of the small fridge below the counter. “But this Christmas has really given everyone something to get excited about. Granny’s already in the back, trying to sort through all the Christmas dinners people are pre-ordering.” She pressed a lid onto Emma’s hot chocolate before passing it to the Savior.

 

“Well, good luck with that. Let me know if you need anything,” Emma said while standing, Killian rising to his feet beside her. Ruby nodded, already turning back to set a fresh pot of coffee on when Emma remembered what she’d been meaning to ask the werewolf. “Wait, Ruby, I was wondering… Do you know anywhere in town that Henry and I could cut down a Christmas tree?”

 

“Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?” Emma shrugged. “Try Paul Acton’s place, on the west edge of town. He was a woodcutter back in our land, and he has a plot of evergreens that he opens as a tree lot around this time of year. Tell him I sent you; he’s an old family friend.”

 

Emma thanked Ruby and walked out of the diner, Killian following close behind her. The air outside was a brisk awakening after the heated bliss that was Granny’s, and Emma shuffled her cocoa into one hand so she could zip her jacket up further. His lone hand occupied with his coffee, Killian wrapped his left arm around her waist, pulling her in close to his body as they set off in the direction of the Sheriff’s station.

 

“Swan, what is this ‘Christmas’ that’s got the whole bloody town in an uproar?”

 

Emma blinked at him incredulously, his expression full of innocent curiosity. “Sometimes I forget that you never had the modern world info dump of the first curse,” she sighed into her hot chocolate. Killian said nothing, matching her stride for stride as he patiently waited for an answer. “It’s a holiday that we celebrate on December 25th – religiously speaking, it’s to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, but a lot of people use it as a time to spend with family and show the people they love how much they care.”

 

“And this tree you and the lad are cutting down tonight, that’s a part of the celebrations as well?” Emma nodded.

 

“People bring evergreen trees into the house and decorate them, and use them to put presents under on Christmas morning. I’ve never really had a real tree before – it was always too much of an inconvenience in Boston, and I never really had the money for one before…” Emma trailed off as she watched Killian’s brow furrow and the frown on his face deepen. “Have you… Did you have anything like that, when you were…?”

 

“Aye,” he replied, and his frown softened so that his expression became one of intense concentration. “In Neverland… There never were any seasons to celebrate, so it’s been many years since…” He blinked and cleared his throat, and Emma wondered if she was imagining the glimmer of moisture gathering in his eyes. “When I was a young lad, perhaps a little older than the outlaw’s boy, I remember celebrating the Long Night… the winter solstice,” He added, catching her confused expression. “If I recall correctly, it was similar enough to your Christmas.”

 

“The solstice… that’s on the 21rst, right?” He nodded, sliding his arm away from her as they arrived in front of the Sherriff’s station. He coughed again, and this time she knew she wasn’t imagining the tear that glimmered on his face; she realized with a pang how much of a past Killian had, and how little of it she knew. He turned away from her with a mumbled goodbye, clearly seeking solitude with whatever painful memory had just struck him, but Emma caught his hook before he could go. “Killian-”

 

He turned, and Emma smiled as she stepped in close to him, drawing his hooked hand up and placing it between their chests, slipping her arm around his neck while taking care not to spill hot chocolate down his back. She pulled him down to her and kissed him, chastely, but with a slow burn of underlying passion and an understanding that she knew he would not miss. “Pick me up here at 4? You can help Henry and me pick out a tree,” she offered. She tasted his smile as he pressed his lips softly against hers once more.

 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, love.”

 

* * *

Henry, as Emma had quickly discovered the previous evening, was something of a connoisseur when it came to the selection of Christmas trees. He had led Emma and Hook up and down the woodcutter’s fields for nearly 2 hours, commenting on the merits and faults of several trees, before finally picking the white spruce that he insisted on being the one to cut down with a borrowed saw (and that Emma had purchased whilst Killian examined the chainsaw carvings that Paul Acton was able to create in painstaking detail – “ _Look Swan, this one’s a bluebird! Remarkable! We must get it for you mother – you did say that this holiday comes with the exchange of gifts?_ ”) He had bought the carving, despite Emma’s protests that he didn’t need to buy presents for anyone in her family, that he already had her mother’s approval; Killian had insisted, saying that while he may have Snow’s trust, he preferred to stay on the good side of her bow and arrow.

 

The tree now stood in the corner of the living room, next to Mary-Margaret’s bookshelf and upright in a tree stand dug out from a massive box of Christmas decorations that had seemingly appeared from nowhere overnight. Her father was currently elbow deep in a knot of twinkle lights, trying to unravel it all while Henry sorted through a box of tree ornaments and offered his grandfather moral support. Nearby, Neal lolled sleeping in his playpen. The entire loft smelled of gingerbread, from the cookies that Snow had already made and the ones she was currently pulling from the oven, and chocolate, as Emma’s mother baked an enormous amalgamation of Christmas treats.

 

Emma sat at the dining table with Killian – who had been, by unspoken agreement amongst all the Charming’s, been invited to join them in all this years holiday festivities – a pipette of vanilla frosting squeezed tight in her grasp while Killian dutifully held two walls of the gingerbread house they were making at a 90 degree angle to each other. “Alright,” she said, placing one last dollop of icing on the adjoining rectangles, “grab the next wall.”

 

“What is the purpose of this exactly, Swan,” Killian questioned, even as he carefully followed her orders. Emma shrugged, squeezing more icing in a careful line between the two walls.

 

“It’s just fun. You make the house, decorate it, and then you eat it.”

 

“Only this one, we’re not eating,” Mary Margaret cautioned from the kitchen. “It’s for the charity auction at Granny’s tomorrow – at the tree lighting ceremony.” About a week before, a twelve foot pine had been erected in the town square; the nuns had spent a day trimming it, in preparation for the apparently annual event where the entire town would gather to plug in the lights, followed by free hot drinks and baking courtesy of Granny’s afterwards. Mary Margaret was ecstatic about the whole thing, hence, all the baking.

 

Killian seemed to take this in stride, prying the fourth wall of the gingerbread house of it’s baking pan without prompting and holding it in place for Emma. Behind him, David gave a cheer as he finally unwound the strand of Christmas lights, tossing an end to Henry who rose to help him begin to wrap the lights around the tree. “Do you think you picked a big enough tree, Henry?” David laughed as the first strand of lights stopped midway down the trunk. He gave Henry the end to hold while he picked up the next unwound strand.

 

“It has to be big, so Santa has more room to place the presents,” Henry grinned, and Emma snorted while her parents laughed.

 

“I don’t think you can use tree size to extort more gifts out of Santa, kid, but nice try,” Emma smirked at her son, and he returned the look as he plugged the second strand of lights into the first and resumed decorating the tree.

 

“Santa?” Killian’s brow furrowed.

 

“Santa Claus,” Henry elaborated helpfully. “He flies all around the world on Christmas Eve and brings presents to children if they’ve been good that year; he fills your stocking and leaves gifts under the tree if you leave him milk and cookies.”

 

“How does he make it around the entire realm in just one night?” Hook’s eyebrows climbed on his forehead. “What, is he some sort of wizard…”

 

“Sort of,” Henry cut in. “He’s got this magical flying sleigh and reindeer, and he has elves to make all his toys because he’s really old and he has to save up his magic during the year so he can climb down chimneys into people’s houses and stuff.”

 

“So…” Killian’s frown returned, and Emma could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he processed this. “A magical, geriatric elf with a peculiar fondness for children burgles your houses for baked goods one night a year, but leaves gifts in his stead?” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Your land has some strange traditions, my lad.”

Henry was laughing too hard to answer, so Emma leaned in to whisper in the vexed pirate’s ear. “He’s not real, Hook. He’s just a story parent’s made up to tell their kids so they’ll behave the rest of the year.”

 

“Just a story?” Killian looked at her incredulously. “You’re talking to Captain Hook, love.” Emma stiffened and a smirk grew on Killian’s face; he was quick to join her son in his laughter after that.

* * *

Later that evening, after dropping Henry off at Regina’s and bidding her parents goodnight, she curled up on the sofa and turned the television on, flipping through the channels until she fell on one that was playing Miracle on 34th street – the remake. Fumbling a hand on the couch behind her, she grabbed the quilt that lay folded there and pulled it over herself, tucking the top of the blanket around her shoulders as she snuggled deeper into the couch cushions. “You joining me, pirate?” she called softly to Killian, who she could hear shuffling around in the kitchen.

 

‘In a moment, love,” came his reply, and she sighed audibly before turning her attention back to the movie on screen. It was just starting, the Cole’s Thanksgiving Day parade playing out on screen, and she was able to lose herself in the plot for several minutes until a warm, spiced scent washed over her. Lifting herself up off the pillows, she turned to see Killian carefully tiptoeing into the room, two mugs issuing steam balanced carefully in his right hand.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Cider.” He stepped around the couch and offered his hand to her; she took one of the mugs from him carefully, inhaling the strange but delicious smell. The couch dipped as he sat down beside her, and she didn’t hesitate to throw her feet onto his lap, setting the cider down momentarily to throw the quilt covering her over his legs, too. “Yesterday, when you asked me about my holiday traditions…” He swallowed harshly, and she touched a hand to his wrist.

 

“Its okay, Killian, you don’t have to-”

 

“I want to,” he insisted. Emma smiled encouragingly, leaning back into the pillows and reaching for her cider again, stealing the warmth of the mug into her fingers as she waited for her suddenly nervous pirate to find his voice. “When I was a lad… I don’t remember much of my mother, she died when I was 8 years old, and my father abandoned me on a merchant vessel not a year later. Liam didn’t find me for another 4 years after that, when I made the mistake of attempting to pickpocket one of his officers when they were in port…”

 

He inhaled sharply, and Emma curled her toes into his thigh. “I digress. I remember very little of my childhood, but I remember Long Night. We would fill the house with evergreen boughs and candles, and stay awake from dusk until dawn, waiting for the Sun to return on the longest night of the year… My mother used to brew up hot cider, and spice it with cloves and cinnamon…” His fingers flexed on his mug. “It smells like I remember she used to.”

 

Unsure of how to respond, Emma lifted her mug to her lips and took a sip. The apples gave the hot liquid a sharp tang, while the cinnamon and cloves mellowed out the flavor with a sweet spiciness that lingered on her tongue. She felt Hook’s eyes on her and smiled. “It’s really good, Killian. Thank you.” He knew she didn’t mean just for the drink.

 

His answering smile was tense, but she felt him relax against her, his limbs becoming more lax as he inhaled the scent of his childhood and watching the movie with her. After a time, he shifted himself closer to her, so that his legs pressed into hers and his elbow managed to loop over her legs to rest on her lap. “You know, this Santa Clause of yours does appear to be a rather amicable fellow,” he declared, nodding at Richard Attenborough on screen. “Perhaps I was too hasty in my judgment of him.”

 

“This is my favorite Christmas movie,” Emma admitted. “After everything that happens, despite everything working against them… They all manage to come together somehow. They find a family.” She can feel his eyes on her again, this time searching her face reading her like a book. He smiles.

 

“Aye, Swan. I rather reckon you have.”

* * *

For all that it was a small town, Storybrooke had quite an impressive population. The numerous denizens of the town milled about the town square, packed together in front of Granny’s, where the silent auction was set up inside, and the library, where the nuns and Belle stood behind several long tables laden with cookies, Styrofoam mugs and large thermoses of coffee and hot chocolate. The lights of the square were lit, the lights on the twelve-foot pine were dark, and Christmas music echoed around the square from the instruments of several Storybrooke citizens who had, apparently, served as Regina’s court musicians back in the Enchanted Forest.

 

Emma grabbed two mugs of hot chocolate with a passing nod and smile to Belle, shuffling past Nova where she stood, back turned to the Blue Fairy’s disapproving glare, with Leroy in what sounded like amusing conversation, from the way they both were laughing and, unexpectedly on Leroy’s part, smiling. Turning, Emma glanced around the square, her eyes jumping from David, holding Neal and talking animatedly to Robin at the base of the tree; to Henry, hoisting Roland up on his shoulders so the younger boy could get a better look at the ornaments glittering in the twinkle lights; to Mary Margaret and Regina, talking amicably and unwinding extension cord – as mayor, it would be her mother’s job to plug in the lights of the tree this year. Killian was nowhere to be found.

 

“David!” Emma called, even as she walked towards her father. David glanced up at his name but didn’t break his conversation. “Dad,” Emma insisted, stopping at his side. That got David’s attention; he turned to her with the same half smile that appeared on his face every time she called him ‘Dad’. “Have you seen Killian? I swear he was here an hour ago…”

 

“He said he’d forgotten something in his room,” David shrugged. “Went up there about 20 minutes ago.” Emma smiled her thanks and glanced back in the direction of Granny’s. “Are you going to stick around to see the tree lit?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll be back as soon as I find Killian,” she said absently, already turning away. “Merry Christmas, Robin, Dad.” An ‘And to you, milady’ followed her as she ducked around one of the dwarves, careful to keep the two cups of hot chocolate from spilling. The front entrance to Granny’s was swamped with people, so she slipped around the side, heading for the back doorway through the laundry room. The noise of the square muted behind her as the door closed, and the warmth of the inn was suddenly stifling, wrapped as she was in her coat and scarf.

 

Killian’s door was shut, but as she tested the knob after balancing the two cups in the palm of one hand, she found that it was unlocked. She eased the door open with her shoulder, ducking her head in to see Killian standing, his back to her, facing the window into the forest. He was dressed for the evening out, wearing jeans that did wonders for his backside and the deep, navy blue shirt she had bought for him after she’d seen him eyeing it while she hauled him with her, Christmas shopping. She set the hot chocolate down on the door side table, unraveling her scarf and shrugging out of her jacket. She crossed the room and he still didn’t turn, even when she slid her arms around his waist, locking them in front and pressing her cheek against his arm to see around him.

 

Resting on the windowsill was a short wooden log, cut flat on one side so it rested upright, and with three holes drilled into the other. In each hole rested a different coloured candle – green, gold and black. They were unlit, and Killian held a lighter in his hand. He leaned back into her embrace with a soft sigh.

 

“It’s a Yule log,” he answered her unspoken question, “Or rather, a variation of. The candles are symbols of the sun, lit on the longest night to keep the darkness away until the sun rises again. My mother would let me light them at dusk, and we would sit vigil overnight, waiting for the dawn.” He flicked his thumb and the lighter flickered to life; he set the flame against each candle, moving left to right, and the smell of melting wax quickly rose to Emma’s nose. “I didn’t mean to worry you, love. I just didn’t want to see the solstice pass without commemorating it somehow. I’ll rejoin the Christmas celebrations in a moment.”

 

“Emma shook her head, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “This is important to you, isn’t it?” The shaky breath he drew was answer enough. Emma circled around until she was stood at his side, threading her fingers through his as he glanced down to finally meet her gaze. “You’ve been so good about learning to celebrate Christmas with me… I want to share your traditions, too.” He nodded, his breathing still damp, but his eyes shining with happiness.

 

“There’s… There was a song, a prayer that my mother used to sing,” he told her, turning his gaze back to the blazing candles, clearing his throat. “As the wheel turns, light returns. The light of the sun has returned to us, bringing life and warmth with it. The shadows will vanish, and life will continue. We are blessed by the light of the sun.” He half spoke, half sang the words in a raspy yet melodious tone. His hand twitched in hers, and she tightened her hold.

 

“Your mother sounds like she was a wonderful woman, Killian.”

 

“Aye, that she was.” He smiled. “She was a strong woman, but with a great heart. She would have liked you, I think.” His hand slid out of hers, and fumbled for a plant resting next to the Yule log that she had missed in her earlier inspection. “Mistletoe,” he told her. “If hung by the door, it brings luck until Long Night of the next year.”

 

Emma took the mistletoe from him, turning it over in her fingers. “You know, we have our own tradition with mistletoe here,” she said, her voice light and teasing. Killian raised an eyebrow at her sudden smile, one teasing at his own mouth. “If you stand under the mistletoe with someone, you have to kiss them.”

 

“Oh, you have to?” His smile grew, turning into the tightlipped smirk that darkened his eyes in a way that caused her breath to feel tight in her chest.

 

“Aye,” she mimicked him. “It’s bad luck not to.”

 

“Well, love,” he said, taking the mistletoe from her hand and reaching his hand high above him, so the plant dangled tantalizingly over their heads. “Who am I to break tradition?” There breath mingled and Emma hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans, thrusting his hips against hers and bringing their lips together with a flash of heat.

 

Needless to say, they were late for the lighting of the tree.

 

* * *

 

 

On Christmas Eve, the whole family gathered at Regina’s house for a beautiful Christmas dinner that, in a stunning show of collaboration, Regina and Mary-Margaret had made together, with Tinkerbelle’s aid. The company and conversation was pleasant, a demonstration of just how far things had come since that fateful moment when Henry had appeared outside Emma’s door on her 28th birthday. Emma left with her parents and Killian, after hugging Henry good night and confirming her plans to have him at the loft for Christmas the following afternoon with Regina. Her parents headed straight for bed upon their return, David feigning ignorance to the fact that Killian would, in fact, be spending the night with Emma.

 

After saying goodnight, Emma grabbed Killian’s hand before he could start up the stairs to her room, ignoring his look of confusion as she drew him over to the couch and sat down. Reaching behind her, Emma explained, “Technically, I’m not supposed to give you nay gifts until tomorrow, but…” She faltered, instead thrusting the folded object in her hand towards Killian.

 

He took the scrap of fabric from her, unfolding it and resting the scarlet felted stocking over his braced arm, his fingers trailing over the design embroidered on it – by Mary Margaret, who had been incredibly receptive to the idea when Emma had brought it up a few days prior – three ships, white sails full with an invisible breeze as they sailed over an ocean of blue thread. He lifted his eyes to hers, lips pursed, and Emma smiled.

 

“When I was in foster care, I was always jealous of the kids who had their own stockings hanging up in a home. Some of the places I stayed were nice enough at Christmas time, they made sure I had something under the tree on Christmas morning, but stocking were always for family. You didn’t get to have one until you belonged.” She glanced over to the bookshelf, where her own stocking hung between David and Mary Margaret’s, before turning back to him. “I found my family, with my parents and brother and Henry… and with you.”

 

“Emma,” he breathed, his expression awed as the full weight of what she was offering to him hit. A family. A home. The possibility of happily ever after. “Gods, Emma…”

 

She kissed him then, and he responded with equal fervor, setting his new stocking down so he could wrap his arm around her, the other threading through her hair, tangling in the blonde locks as she pulled back for breath, resting her forehead on his. “Merry Christmas, Killian Jones.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Emma Swan.”

**Author's Note:**

> And a Merry Christmas to you too! Or a non-denominational Happy Holidays!  
> Long Night is based on the pagan celebrations of the Winter Solstice, which I researched, but still may have accidentally butchered. Sorry about that.  
> Wishing you all a delightful holiday season!


End file.
